17 notes "

i think your heart is a ship.
i think i am not the ocean you are looking for.
i am not your pacific. there is more salt
than ocean when you dip your tongue
into my waters.

i think i am the dead sea.
you do not care for king david. it’s the 21st century.
nobody will believe there is sacred in me.
there is nothing holy about me anymore.

i think you do not like the bodies i keep afloat.
i think you find my inability to drown the dead a curse.
i think you do not understand my desire to be soft
with even the devil. only the most cruel men
have ever reflected my kind of loneliness.
i think the world need only love and listen to them
before they melt into submission.

i think i am the wrong kind of softness.

i am almost all water and drowning,
but i can’t even do what water does -
hold a ship up. hold you up.
your heart is too heavy with meaning.
it means too much to me.

i think your heart is a ship that was built to sail away.
i think i was built to hold up the wrong bodies.
i think it was best like this.

 i think i am the dead sea, Diana Rahim  (via blocpartying)
0 notes "That evening, as I watched the sunset’s pinwheels of apricot and mauve slowly explode into red ribbons, I thought: The sensory misers will inherit the earth, but first they will make it not worth living on. When you consider something like death, after which (there being no news flash to the contrary) we may well go out like a candle flame, then it probably doesn’t matter if we try too hard, are awkward sometimes, care for one another too deeply, are excessively curious about nature, are too open to experience, enjoy a nonstop expense of the senses in an effort to know life intimately and lovingly. It probably doesn’t matter if, while trying to be modest and eager watchers of life’s many spectacles, we sometimes look clumsy or get dirty or ask stupid questions or reveal our ignorance or say the wrong thing or light up with wonder like the children we all are. It probably doesn’t matter if a passerby sees us dipping a finger into the moist pouches of dozens of lady’s slippers to find out what bugs tend to fall into them, and thinks us a bit eccentric. Or a neighbor, fetching her mail, sees us standing in the cold with our own letters in one hand and a seismically red autumn leaf in the other its color hitting our sense like a blow from a stun gun, as we stand with a huge grin, too paralyzed by the intricately veined gaudiness of the leaf to move."
Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses
0 notes "I have always been tormented by the image of multiplicity of selves. Some days I call it richness, and other days I see it as a disease, a proliferation as dangerous as cancer. My first concept about people around me was that all of them were coordinated into a WHOLE, whereas I was made up of multiple selves, of fragments. I know that I was upset as a child to discover that we had only one life. It seems to me that I wanted to compensate for this by multiplying experience. Or perhaps it always seems like this when you follow all your impulses and they take you in different directions. In any case, when I was happy, always at the beginning of a love, euphoric, I felt I was gifted for living many lives fully. It was only when I was in trouble, lost in a maze, stifled by complications and paradoxes that I was haunted or that I spoke of my “madness,” but I meant the madness of the poets."
Anaïs Nin
0 notes CNV000016 by Dyvyna on Flickr.
0 notes ヒカリとカゲ by turquoiseacco on Flickr.
1 note untitled by isabelle bertolini on Flickr.
1 note untitled by isabelle bertolini on Flickr.
0 notes untitled by isabelle bertolini on Flickr.
2 notes untitled by RagtimeWillie on Flickr.
1 note untitled by RagtimeWillie on Flickr.
0 notes untitled by RagtimeWillie on Flickr.
2 notes . by Careless Edition on Flickr.
4 notes "Before I am your daughter,
your sister,
your aunt, niece, or cousin,
I am my own person,
and I will not set fire to myself
to keep you warm."
1 note 20131115_3_6 by sannah kvist on Flickr.